Creating space for artist parents and families

Becoming a mum was the best thing that ever happened to me, but it came with a lot of preconceptions. I thought: “I’ll never work again,” “No one will want me now I’m a mum,” or “I’ll just get everything done while bubs sleeps.” Some of these pressures were self-imposed, others came from society and the industry. Some were surprisingly untrue. For one, I got busier, and there was no humanly way possible to get everything done while the baby was sleeping.

If I had to describe what it feels like to parent while working in the creative industries, I’d say it’s like stepping out your front door into a sandstorm and every now and then you get hit with a wet fish… visibility is low, it’s uncomfortable, there’s uncertainty, and every now and then there is a wet surprise.

But there’s also a lot of joy. I work closely and collaboratively with my family, and that’s given me a lot of flexibility. Still, as a solo parent and creative, balancing everything is a daily challenge. Even though the arts sector is shaped by contract and freelance workers, it has limited funding and support structures for parents. Opportunities can feel out of reach, simply because they weren’t designed with us in mind.

Here are a few of my personal experiences as a First Nations artist, arts worker, and solo mother to offer reflections and recommendations for how arts institutions can better support artist parents. I’ve been fortunate to be included in spaces where people have gone above and beyond but these should not be exceptions. With some structural changes, our sector can become more inclusive, accessible, and fair.

When my son Yarra was just five months old, I received the Wandjuk Marika Memorial 3D Award at the NATSIAAs. It was the witching hour (parents will understand that term) the sound was loud, and he was distressed. The only thing that calmed him was breastfeeding. So, when my name was announced, I walked up with him latched on. I gave my acceptance speech, had no hands free to accept the award, and sat back down and the whole time he didn’t stop feeding.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it, I was just doing what I needed to do. But the next day, several women came up to tell me how much it had empowered them. That moment really made me think about how rare it is to see parenting made visible in arts spaces.

I’ve given talks while breastfeeding and performed while my body was still adjusting postpartum. I’ve had Yarra beside me during installs, on-site with a hard hat, and sleeping on the floor during meetings. He travelled more by the age of two, when flying is free, than I had by my 21st birthday. Also, in my timeline of being a parent, exhibitions about women, mothers, and First Nations creatives have become more common, and that’s helped with visibility.

While many people have been supportive, it’s usually down to individuals rather than

institutional structures. I’ve had curators help me fit a child seat or offer to babysit during my talk, usually those that are parents themselves and know the struggle is real. These acts made it possible for me to participate, but I often wonder how many other artist-parents miss out because the support just isn’t there.

There have been opportunities I might have turned down if someone hadn’t encouraged me to apply. Sometimes I thought it would be too hard to bring Yarra, or felt like the space wouldn’t be accommodating. But when I’ve been included, it’s often led to some of my most rewarding work. Having family and children there keeps things real and reminds everyone what’s important.

I remember applying for a grant and being told I could allocate funding for childcare. That small detail made all the difference, it gave me the freedom to focus without guilt or constant negotiation.

Still, we need more systems that support parenting, especially career gaps due to parenting. Residencies, awards, and grants often don’t recognise the invisible labour and pauses in practice that come with raising a child. If applications made room for these experiences, I think we’d see more parents in the mix.

One of the most difficult spaces I’ve found to access as a parent is artist residencies. I have taken Yarra to a few, including ASIA TOPA, where another First Nations artist, Rosanna Raymond from Aotearoa, encouraged family involvement. Yarra was eight months old, and I paid for my mum and mother-in-law’s flights to come and help with care. Without them, it wouldn’t have been possible.

I’ve also been offered flights for Yarra on occasion, which meant I could accept an opportunity. But again, this support was offered informally and wasn’t part of a standard model. I would often have to ask, and while that felt culturally appropriate for me as a First Nations woman, I wonder how many other mothers feel that too?

We need residencies designed with families in mind, where accommodation is suitable, where care support is included, and where artists aren’t penalised for needing flexibility. I’d love to see co-parenting or collaborative residencies where multiple artist-parents come together with their children. There’s power in making care visible.

In my practice, I’ve learned to build care costs into my budgets whenever I can. I’ve requested extra funding for travel support, childcare, and even additional accommodation. In some cases, I’ve been successful. But not every artist knows this is possible or feels confident asking.

I believe funding bodies and organisations should make this process more transparent.

Application forms should clearly state that care costs are eligible. Templates should include sections for this, and assessors should be trained to value it.

Without this support, parenting becomes a barrier. With it, artist-parents can thrive.

There are many things institutions can do to make their programs more inclusive:

• Ask artists about their caring responsibilities.
• Offer daytime options for events and openings.
• Provide facilities for families.
• Be flexible with deadlines and expectations.
• Build care into budgets and contracts.
• Support artists whose careers have been interrupted by parenting.

These aren’t just niceties, they’re necessary. They help create a sector that reflects real lives and supports a diverse community of artists.

I make Yarra visible in my work and at work because I want to create a pathway for future artist-parents, and simply because I have no alternative. But I want people to know it is possible, even if it isn’t always easy. I’ve been lucky to have family support and to work with people who care. But we need more than luck.

I often wonder, where are all the children? Why don’t we see more of them in galleries, talks, and residencies? I hope this articlerhelps push for change, not just to support artist-parents, but to create space for the children who grow up alongside their practices, witnessing what’s possible when care is part of the creative process.

NAVA invites artists, arts workers and Organisational Members to join a preliminary consultation on parenting in the arts, as part of a new update to the Code of Practice for Visual Arts, Craft and Design.

This consultation will help shape new guidance in the Code on good practice approaches to creating inclusive and accessible practices for artist parents in the visual arts, craft and design sector. The new section will recommend actionable steps to better accommodate caring responsibilities, enable equal opportunity and support artistic careers alongside parenting.

Event details

Wednesday 20 August 2025 via Zoom (online for 1 hour)
9.30am AWST, 11.00am ACST, 11.30am AEST

Image credit: Joseph Mayers

ID: A person with short brown hair wears a bright yellow suit and white shirt, smiling at the camera.

Nicole Monks is a multi-disciplinary creative of Yamaji Wajarri, Dutch and English heritage living and working on Awabakal Country (Newcastle). Monks’ practice is informed by her cross-cultural identity, using storytelling as a way to connect the past with the present and future. Her works take a conceptual approach that are embedded with narratives and aim to promote conversation and connection.  

An award-winning designer and artist, Monks crosses disciplines to work with furniture and video, placemaking, tactile works, installation, and activation. Monks’ work reflects Aboriginal philosophies of sustainability, innovation and collaboration. Monks is well known for her success as a solo and collaborative creative, founding design practice blackandwhite creativeand public art company mili mili.